


I do believe in magic

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Barduil [22]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And then this happened, Everything Else is Still the Same, I also figured out how to kind of use, Immortal!Bard, Oops, So I was like 'what if Bard was a wizard like from Harry Potter', The Bardlings are magical too, Work Skins, magic! au, only Bard is now a Wizard, weeehee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: In which Bard's a wizard and he remembers that magical communication is a thingOrIn which Thranduil experiences a winter like never before
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Series: Barduil [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/267661
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	I do believe in magic

**Author's Note:**

> So, the need to know:  
> Set the first winter after BOFA.  
> Bard's a wizard. He's actually Girion's second son, the one who survived Dale being destroyed and he only survived because his mother was a witch who got him the hell out of dodge the moment the dragon showed up. Wizards and witches where what occurred when Morgoth tried to warp humans the way he warped elves into Orcs and Maiar into Balrogs. The newly created witches and wizards then kind of told Morgoth to go to hell and fucked off to do their own thing... Morgoth was like 'I can respect that, because I also told my father to get fucked. So proud.'
> 
> Some wizards have figured out ways to gain immortality through philosophers stones or fountains or youth or whatever, Bard's family has a Garden with Golden Apple trees that's hidden and protected in the Plains east of Esgaroth. It's not true immortality as the elves have, because each of the various ways has to be repeated. Every hundred years, Bard has to go and eat one of the Golden Apples: skin, flesh, core, and seeds to remain immortal. The Bardlings will start doing the same when they reach their maturities.
> 
> They're not quite the wizards and witches from HP verse but they may as well be :P 
> 
> As for Thran, he was raised in Doriath, learned 'magic' with Luthien and the Lady Galadriel by Melian.

_Thranduil. Are you there?_

Thranduil stares in confusion at the parchment in front of him as words begin to appear. He licks his lips and tries to decide if he’s perhaps going a little bit mad.

_Maybe your elvish magic is interfering? Mother did say that could happen…_

Thranduil sighs heavily and picks up the quill and dips it in the ink, then scrawls a reply, in Westron, since that is the written form already on the parchment.

Who is this?

_Wow, you can’t recognize my writing?_

Thranduil pauses and stares at the writing and laughs when he realizes whose it is, it’s reminiscent of Bard after he’s had a few drinks.

Bard.

_Hello, love._

How are you doing this?

_I thought I told you about this? Did I forget?_

_Anyway, it’s a form of communication magic_

_Tilda charmed it for me because I can’t do magic right now_

_It’s a one-off spell, but I’ll figure something out_

_Safer to use a set of twined journals, but I wasn’t sure it would work_

_And it takes a long time to charm a whole journal, let alone two_

_I guess I should get started on that or maybe a communication mirror?_

_But that’s easier to get caught. I’ll think about it._

_Anyway, I just want to check in on you._

_Can’t get any messages out the regular way with the snow._

_I also might be very, very not-sober on potions._

What happened?

Thranduil writes back, forcing his hand to remain steady, and his heart to remain calm, so he won’t rush off to Dale in the middle of the night in the middle of a vicious snowstorm.

_Long story short, a building was not as stable as first thought._

_Ceiling collapsed._

_I got trapped inside._

_But I’m fine. The kids are fine._

_Just a few broken and bruised bones_

_Nothing some potions won’t set to rights_

_You won’t even know the next time you see me._

_What’s happening where you are?_

Thranduil frowns darkly at the parchment, before deciding he’ll go and visit Bard in Dale as soon as the snows thaw, so he can check for himself that his beloved is well.

I knew I should have stayed through the winter!

_Oh right, so you could have been trapped in the rubble with me_

_Brilliant plan, my beloved._

I see your point.

As for what’s happening here?

I miss Legolas, it’s very quiet without him being up to mischief

Galion keeps me in Dain’s weight in parchments

The wine continues to be good, as usual

The spiders and the orcs continue to infest my beautiful forest

It’s all very much of a muchness, to be perfectly frank with you

And I find myself missing you more than I think should be possible

_Aww, you do love me_

_I miss you, too_

_I have a surprise for you, but I’m not allowed to do it right now_

_More likely to Divide myself if I try while on potions_

_But whenever I’m free and clear, you can have your surprise_

I’ve not been known to enjoy surprises all that much

_You’ll like this one._

_Oh, Sigrid’s telling me I have to go to sleep._

_I love you!_

I love you, back. Sleep well, my Dragonslayer.

Thranduil stares at the parchment long after he’s sure Bard’s already gone to sleep. The love he feels swells in him and he aches with it. If it weren’t the worst part of winter, he’d take his horse and ride out to Dale in a heartbeat. But instead, he must pine from afar.

* * *

The next day, he finds an unfamiliar journal sitting on his desk, he frowns at it in confusion and picks up the note attached to it. He smiles when he sees Sigrid and Bain’s now familiar handwriting.

Hello, ada! Da wanted to make the journals but he’s banned from magic

**_So, Bain and I made them for you both, instead_ **

This journal is blood bound, so it will only open for you, or someone who carries a direct link to your blood

**_He means Legolas!_ **

But, in order to bind it to your blood, you have to smear blood over the latch

**_You only need to do this the first time, to bind the book_ **

After the book has bound to your blood, it will glow and the latch will release, and you can write to da

**_The book will give a faint glow, that only you can see, when you have a message_ **

The book will never run out of pages, so you and da can write to each other forever

**_The book is spelled to be impervious, so it will never be damaged_ **

No matter what might happen to it

**_If, in future, you want to ensure only you can open the book, da or one of us can tie it to your magical core_ **

Or, if you feel like experimenting, you can try to do that yourself, ma always said elves have magic of their own

**_Enjoy the gift, ada!_ **

All of our love

**_Sigrid,_**

Bain,

**_Tilda_  
**

**_I got to do the spell that sent it to you!!! :)_ **

Thranduil laughs a little and shakes his head. Bard’s children are such wonderful breaths of fresh air. Their whole family are not like any of the humans Thranduil has met and he is including Beren in this.

He carefully sets the note aside and eyes the journal, Melian taught him much of blood magic, as well as other magical forms all that time ago in Doriath, it’s just been a very long time since he last encountered such. He pulls the dagger from his boot and pricks his thumb, smearing the blood over the latch before sucking on his thumb. He watches as the book glows golden, his blood absorbing into the hide, then the latch releases and he pulls the book open.

He snorts a laugh at the sketch drawn on the first page and devolves almost immediately into giggles.

Did you have a meeting with Dain? Or did you just assume I needed a laugh?

He writes, a smile pulling at his lips every time he glances at the drawing. The response is almost immediate.

_Bit of both. The pathway down from the Mountain isn’t too bad, so we’ve been meeting to discuss how our shared rebuilds are going._

I take it you didn’t actually strangle the daft dwarf?

_No, I’d rather not be at war while I’m incapable of magic, thanks._

Are you incapable of magic right now or just not allowed to do it?

_Kind of both. The potions stop me from doing stronger workings of magic, but even the smaller workings are dangerous._

_Magic has a mind of its own and you need to be at your best, or at least able to summon all your will, to be able to control it._

Yes, I was taught the same. It’s why my glamours are tied to my rings. I don’t have to consciously control them, though I can.

_One day, I’m going to get to see beneath all of your glamours!_

_Anyway, hello! I could get used to being able to talk with you on a daily basis._

Hello. Doesn’t make me miss you any less

_Aww, love!_

_You say the nicest things! I’ve been missing you like crazy._

_I’ve even been missing the mess you and Dain create when you’re left in a room together._

_But that might just be because I’m bed-bound and not thinking straight._

How badly have you been hurt? I thought you’d be better?

_I am regrowing the bones in both my legs, so that’s a great deal of fun._

_Should be finished in about another day._

Thranduil stares at the journal, horrified and not a little awed.

You have a potion that regrows bones?

_Yes. We also have potions that regrow limbs, but it takes a very, very long time and is incredibly painful, so it doesn’t get used very often._

_Most witches and wizards decide they’re better off with magical prosthetics._

_Do you not have a means of regrowing bones?_

Other than letting time mend what’s been broken? No.

_Well, we’ll have to test if our potions work for any of your people._

_Ooh, I wonder if you’d be able to have Fireball._

Fireball?

_It’s alcohol. Inspired by dragons, which you know, possibly too soon, but it’s very yum._

You have alcohol inspired by dragons?

Why?!

_It’s a very strong drink and when you drink it, you very briefly breathe fire._

_It was, originally, created to help warm people up if they fell into the Lake during winter._

_But it’s a magical beverage, so could be poisonous to non-magical folks._

I’m mildly curious about this, now.

_You can try some the next time you’re in Dale._

_If you only have a little, it won’t be too hard to spell it out of you if it’s poisonous._

Well, that sounds lovely.

_Be more lovely than dying, love._

That’s true enough.

Thranduil wiles away the rest of the evening writing to Bard about anything and everything the pair of them think of to talk about. He knows that the pair of them are just pining pathetically for the other, but still, it’s _nice_ , and he knows already from experience that there are worse ways to pine.

* * *

It’s a week after the first parchment conversation when Thranduil learns new things about Bard’s magical existence. He sits himself down at his desk and opens the journal to see if Bard’s finished for the day.

Save me from the petty arguments of the aristocracy.

He writes, barely holding in a groan as he remembers the almost pointless meetings that he’s spent the day sitting in. Winter is always a slow time for them, seeing as no one can really leave the Halls, except for the patrols who keep to the branches of the trees. His nobles then spend their time arguing over childish things that have no real impact on anything, yet he’s still expected to mediate.

It’s not too long before the book glows and he turns to see Bard’s response.

_Mine haven’t even been ‘officially’ declared noble yet and they’re already on my nerves._

Welcome to the life of being a king.

It’s just babysitting and trying to keep everything from falling to pieces.

_It’s a no from me._

_Except, I’ve already sworn my oaths, so alas, I cannot go back._

_Anyway, I’m allowed to do magic now, so now’s a good a time as any for your surprise?_

Are you sending it the way Tilda sent the journal?

_Not quite._

_You’re alone now, right?_

_Probably wouldn’t be a grand idea for me to spill the beans about magic when I’ve sworn oaths to uphold our secrecy…_

Yes, I’m alone.

_Great._

Thranduil startles when there’s a small _crack_ from behind him, followed by the sound of another person breathing. He turns in surprise and his jaw drops open at the sight of Bard standing before him with a bright grin.

“It’s me! I’m your surprise!” Bard exclaims, with a laugh as Thranduil rushes across the room to pull him into a tight embrace. Inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and the earth after it rains.

“How did you do this?” He exclaims, resting his face against Bard’s hair, his lover just laughs.

“Magic.” Bard answers, the way he always does when Thranduil asks such questions. Thranduil huffs and rolls his eyes, pulling away to appraise Bard, looking for any sign of the injuries he knows his lover has been healing from. He finds no evidence. “Told you that you wouldn’t even be able to tell.”

“You’re truly well?” Thranduil asks, unable to stop the frown that forms on his lips.

“I’m fine, beloved.” Bard promises, reaching up to caress his face. “All the better for finally being able to see you again. But I’m healed and well.”

“I’m glad.” Thranduil murmurs, leaning forward to steal a kiss, savouring the sweet taste on Bard’s lips, he hums, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he recognizes the taste. “You’ve been eating chocolate.”

“Believe it or not, chocolate is quite healing for magicals.” Bard answers, an unashamed grin on his face. “It’s practically a staple, like your wine is for you.”

“I don’t think wine actually has any healing properties, though.” Thranduil points out, though he’d never admit it in front of anyone else.

“Perhaps not for elves, but red wine has several known health benefits amongst humans.” Bard answers, Thranduil simply raises an eyebrow in question, Bard shrugs his shoulders. “It’s been known to delay vision loss and boost heart health, amongst other things.”

“I see. Elves don’t generally have to concern themselves with such things.” Thranduil answers, before his eyes wander back to Bard’s legs and he frowns. “Did it leave any scars?”

“Some small scars, both my legs were crushed. The bones kind of didn’t really exist much anymore?” Bard says, as if he’s not just admitted that if he weren’t magical, he, likely, wouldn’t ever be able to walk again.

“Show me!” Thranduil demands, not backing down even when Bard huffs at him, but his lover obliges. Thranduil watches with narrowed eyes as Bard shimmies out of his trousers and sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms over his chest, looking at Thranduil with an exasperated smile.

“Come on, then.” Bard encourages, when Thranduil doesn’t move. “I’d prefer to actually get to the fun portion of stripping down, but I know you’ll mother-hen first, so…” Thranduil snorts and finally steps up to the bedside, sinking gracefully down onto the edge of the bed and running his fingers over Bard’s legs. He’d catalogued all of Bard’s various scars in the desperate nights they’d clung to each other following the Battle of Five Armies. So, he knows all the old scars, and immediately knows which ones are new.

“You could have died.”

“There’s a chance I could die every singe day, Thranduil.” Bard answers, his words harsh but his voice gentle. “I know you elves worry about such, but humans don’t, I never did, even before my mother showed me her garden.”

“I still don’t know what’s so amazing about this garden that it grants immortality.” Thranduil points out, still quietly committing all of Bard’s new scars to his memory. “Eru is supposed to be the only one who can do that.”

“Hmm, well, when I must go for my next centennial visit, I’ll bring you along. Since you already know the secret and wouldn’t be able to get back there without my aid, I won’t be breaking any oaths.” Bard replies, with a grin. “You’ll love it.”

“Oaths are important to you?”

“I don’t know how oaths work for you, but certain oaths are magically binding contracts, to break them means I risk losing my magic or, in some cases, my life.”

“If we swear an oath on Eru, it’s binding. Otherwise, it’s honour bound and nothing more.” Thranduil answers, frowning at his lover. “Your kingship oaths were binding, I take it?”

“Yes, because I’ve also been made king of all human witches and wizards within Rhovanion.” Bard confirms with a little scowl. “That just means I have double the meetings and double the petty bullshit because my human nobles aren’t allowed to know about the magical ones.”

“How did you get away with telling me about magic? If you swore secrecy oaths?”

“You’re the leader of my neighbouring territory.” Bard replies, shrugging his shoulders. “Dain knows now, too. Even were you not, we’re allowed to tell our spouses, if they aren’t like us. Of course, in that case, you’d have your memory of my magic erased if the relationship ended, but that’s not something you have to worry about.” Thranduil stares at him in mute horror.

“You can… you can erase someone’s memories?”

“The last time the rest of the world learned we existed, a great many of us were burned at the stake or drowned or otherwise tortured to death.” Bard explains, an unhappy frown on his face. “We don’t like erasing memories, but it keeps us safe.”

“Spouses.” Thranduil blurts, his mind suddenly catching up on what else Bard had said before he’d been horrified by the thought of his memories being tampered with. Bard blinks at him in confusion. “Are we-?” his words seem to fail him and he doesn’t think he’s been flustered in a little while, but Bard just laughs.

“No. Least, not unless we’re following the Elvish custom, but I’m fairly certain you already have a wife.” Bard queries, raising an eyebrow at Thranduil, who can only give a stiff nod in response. “Right. You can’t accidentally get married in wizarding fashion, non-magicals often do end up in situations where they have to get married, but it’s also a little harder for them to accidentally marry.”

“You obviously know the Elvish custom, but what’s the magical one?” Thranduil asks, refusing to let himself dwell on the very obvious fact that he’s being not at all faithful to his dearly departed wife. She’d never hold it against him, of course, her people don’t hold to marriage the way his do, but still he feels like his relationship with Bard is a betrayal of her.

“There are various magical customs when it comes to marriage, most are decided by your birth family and the family you are marrying into.” Bard explains, with a laugh. “My wife’s family traditionally married naked under the light of the full moon within a ritual circle, observed by specially selected guests.”

“What?!” Thranduil is fairly certain his voice has never gotten that high before, Bard giggles, _genuine_ little giggles.

“In the very early days, where witches and wizards had just told Morgoth to go and stick his allegiance where the sun doesn’t shine, all important magics were cast sky clad in ritual, since clothing interfered with the magic being cast. Magicals hadn’t yet figured out how to control their magic enough that such was no longer necessary. When we did learn, some things remained in sky clad rituals for the tradition of it all. Marriage was one of these things.” Bard explains, shrugging his shoulders. “My family swears our vows under Anor’s light, but the marriage must be consummated under Ithil’s. Thankfully, only the swearing of the vows needs to be witnessed.”

“Thank Nienna for small mercies.” Thranduil mutters, smiling when Bard laughs again.

“I haven’t even told you about sex rituals yet.” His lover points out, Thranduil stares at him in mortification.

“What?”

“Sex rituals are the strongest form of Rebirth Magic. If you ever want to bring new life back into a dying world, sex rituals are the way to go about it.” Bard sighs heavily and shakes his head. “Honestly, we’re still debating who is going to conduct the rituals once Dale and Lake Town are rebuilt. Traditionally, it would be my place, but I’ve bowed out, seeing as I have no spouse and cannot realistically request my partner participate.”

“I take it such rituals have to be observed?” Thranduil queries, feeling his cheeks heat at the implications, Bard snorts and nods his head.

“It’s not so much they have to be observed, it’s more that the magic generated by the ritual needs to be carefully released into the environment. The two performing the ritual won’t exactly have the focus required, which means the task falls to those in the outer rings of the Ritual Circle.” Bard says, while Thranduil quietly considers the Southern portion of the forest which has been slowly choking and dying on the Darkness for the last two thousand odd years.

“Does it always require outside control?” he asks, cocking his head to the side and trying not to let on how interested he is by all of this. This is _not_ the sort of magic that Melian taught him _at all_.

“Not always.” Bard answers, an amused smile forming as his eyes sparkle. “There is a type of magical communion that is classified as a sex ritual. The Circle is drawn carefully and elaborately so only the participants need be present. Some marriage rituals are also sex rituals which can be performed without the audience.” Bard considers Thranduil for a long moment, the pair of them staring unflinching into the other’s eyes. “Perhaps I can show you magical communion at some point.”

“What is it?” 

“When shared with another, it’s the brief twinning of magical cores. It’s the most intimate of magical arts. We don’t generally engage in magical communion with anyone but our spouse. In fact, it’s considered rather uncouth to have magical communion with someone you aren’t married to.”

“And when not shared with another?”

“Communing with the magic of the land itself.” Bard answers, Thranduil actually splutters in shock.

“The Song of Arda, _you_ can commune with it?” Thranduil exclaims because _that had_ been something Melian taught him, but he hadn't been aware humans could interact with it, too.

“Our magic comes from the Song; we have to commune with it in order for our magic to remain strong.” Bard replies, before frowning. “I can give you magic lessons later; if you want them. But this wasn’t actually what I had in mind when I decided to surprise you?” Thranduil laughs and shifts forward so he can claim Bard’s mouth in a kiss.

“I wouldn’t want you to complain about my hospitality.” He murmurs, tangling his fingers in Bard’s long hair and tugging him in.

* * *

When he wakes in the morning, Bard is gone, but there is a bar of chocolate innocently resting on his desk and scrawled in the journal are the words ‘until next time, beloved.’


End file.
